AN: This got a bit long, even though I put a lot of it in the next chapter. I just can't stop writing details of the boys interacting. *shrugs unapologetically*
I hope you enjoy!
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Sammy was crabby. It was supposed to be a fun time with Dean off school, and that meant sleeping in and reading the comics Jerry had let him borrow and hanging out with Dad and Sammy, who was usually pretty fun for a little kid.
Instead, Sammy was up half the night again and super cranky because of it. And that meant Dad, who was already stressed about something, didn't know what to with his younger son, so he had a tendency to foist him off on Dean.
So that "fun" Christmas break was turning into a constant, failing game of try-to-keep-Sammy-happy. He hadn't so much as had a chance to open Web of Spiderman. "This sucks," Dean said, but quietly. He knew Dad hated the phrase, and he knew who would get in trouble if Sammy repeated it. Dean eyed the brand new comic covetously.
On cue, Sammy whined, "De! I want joos."
Dean slid off the couch with a thump. "Sammy! There's no juice. And I TOLD you that already! Stop being so annoying!" Dean didn't mean to yell, but he was tired from sleeping next to a mumbling, squirming brother.
Sammy's bottom lip trembled and he blinked. "I'm sorry for bein' 'noying." He sniffed and climbed into the tan armchair that Dad liked so much, curling up like a dog. Guilt pushed at Dean, but he ignored it in favor of the Spiderman comic all the boys at school were talking about.
But somehow Spiderman's wisecracks fell flat and his big fight wasn't exciting. Dean found himself distracted. Guilty. Looking up at every little noise his little brother made. Finally, the younger child fell asleep and Dean's chest eased just a little. He promised himself that when Sammy woke up, he'd let him play with Dean's toy cars -- even the Impala. After all, Sammy never put cars in his mouth any more, and he rarely crashed the cars together.
Sammy would love that. He wanted to be just like Dean in every way, so to be allowed to play with Dean's favorite toys would make him very happy, even though he'd been crabby. Dean felt a lot better with his plan in place. He knew the foul mood wasn't really Sammy's fault -- he was so tired he couldn't help it.
Dean scowled down at poor Spidey. It bothered him that he couldn't fix things for Sammy. He sighed, feeling so.much older than 8. He knew his classmates didn't worry about protecting their siblings from monsters, or babysitting for hours on end, even overnight without an adult in sight.
Sam mumbled something about elephants and shoes and Dean couldn't keep a little grin from spreading across his face. Of course, his classmates didn't get to be Sammy's big brother. Or have a super hero for a dad. And they sure didn't get to help keep people safe from monsters.
Sam's mumbling turned more insistent, and now he was talking about knocking and ice and was well on his way to another nightmare. For some reason, the kid was freaked out by the iced over lake just out of sight behind the apartment building. It looked like a glorified, frozen pond to Dean, but who knew what went on in Sam's weirdo brain?
This nightmare was something Dean could actually help with. He walked over to Sam, and, in a practiced move, slid beneath him so Sammy was now on Dean's lap, still asleep.
Dean started talking. He'd already learned that it didn't matter what he said, only that he spoke calmly and had physical contact with Sammy.
"So, the Impala's the greatest car ever made. Lemme tell you why..."
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
The first thing that registered to Dean was great, hairy monkey balls, he was cold. Then, he realized that he hurt. All of his muscles ached. And speaking of balls, "who kicked me?" he asked, though it didn't come out with the right number of consonants.
"Dean?" Sam sounded very relieved. He muttered something under his breath. "Sorry. I think that was, uh, my elbow when we fell."
"Happed?" Well, that wasn't quite right, but Sam would understand.
"Supernatural booby trap now neutralized," explained Sam succinctly. "You gotta open your eyes, Dean. We can't stay here."
Something soft was patting his cheek and he wished it would stop. He grumbled a little and tried to turn away, but the patting just followed. It was highly annoying, which meant it was probably Sam. Come to think of it, Sam had sounded kind of stressed. "We 'kay?"
"You're fine, Dean."
That wording did what nothing else had managed and Dean got his eyes open. It was pretty dark, but Sam was leaning in close. He smiled a little. "I'm fine too, Dean. You took the worst of it." He patted Dean's chest. "I even had a soft landing."
Dean scowled even though it felt like his face might crack. Bell rung it not, he worked out that he'd been played.
He couldn't think of anything to say except, "bitch!"
Sam smiled again because he was a rotten rat. "C'mon, jerk. You can be mad at me later. We have to get out of here and warm up."
Before Dean could formulate a response he was being pulled up. He wanted to help, he really did, but his body was three steps behind his brain. And his brain honestly wasn't moving all that fast.
Maybe things weren't working so great for Sam, either, because Dean slipped sideways and thought he might hit the floor again. But there was a quick curse and a quicker arm behind his back. Then he was pulled to a sitting position and then leveraged to his feet, which was all well and good, except he was having a hard time keeping track of which direction was up.
"Okay. Good, Dean. Try to get your balance a little bit. In just a second, we're going to try walking. You think you can do that?"
Dean wanted to tell Sam to stop talking to him like he was a kid, but something had shorted out between his brain and his mouth. Really, between his brain and everything else. He'd sort of forgotten the question, and what came out was, "short circuit."
Sam huffed a laugh. "Yeah, you did kind of get shorted out. C'mon, you need to work with me. Open your eyes again and start walking."
"Bossy," muttered Dean, but the urgency in Sam's voice got him walking. He was starting to wake up more, too. "It's cold," he complained, looking over the snowy landscape. Sam only grunted in response. Dean's eyes latched on a dark expanse down and to his right. "Don' worry 'bout the ice or th' knockin', Sammy. I'll keep you safe."
"'Kay." Sam sounded like he was working very hard. Dean wondered why.
"Why you shaking?"
"Cuz I'm holding onto you and you're shivering."
Huh. Sam was holding onto him. Helping him too. Dean picked his head up more.
"'S really cold." It was. Now that Dean could feel his feet, he wished he couldn't. "Why aren't you shivering?"
"Because it's really hard..." Sam sounded really frustrated, but he blew out a breath and when he started talking again, he was calmer. "I'm working pretty hard and it's keeping me warm."
Working hard? Dean wasn't working hard. He blinked hard, doing inventory. They were trudging through the snow, working their way downhill. And...Sam had a handful of the front of Dean's coat, and it felt like the back too. Hmm. Was that why he was working so hard? That wasn't right...Dean was supposed to be the bigger brother. Well, at least the older brother. With effort, Dean took more of his own weight. His senses were slowly coming back online.
Sam shifted him so he could pull Dean's arm across his shoulders. It almost slipped off the slippery coat, but Sam had ahold of his wrist.
"Sorry, man," said Dean.
"It's fine. You're fine. I barely caught the end of the spell and I still got pretty scrambled for a little bit." The words were kind, and the shoulders were broad, and the hands were careful and strong. And even though he knew it was residual...whatever the hell had knocked him on his ass, Dean was suddenly overwhelmed. With pride at the man Sam had become and the role Dean had played in that. With gratitude that Sam was here, at his side.
"Dean? You okay?"
Damn. He couldn't let his image take another hit. Dean took more of his own weight, though his muscles still felt like jelly. "Jus' cold." He looked over at how Sam had to hunch to help him. "Why'd you get so big, anyway?"
"Just trying to catch my big brother," said Sam. He was actually stuttering a little from the cold, but he sounded amused. "But you always seem larger than life, so I kind of overshot the mark, shorty."
Dean sputtered because he was supposed to and because the stupid cold was making his stupid nose run and if Dean didn't complain, his stupid, sappy brother might think he was stupid and sappy too.
That was a lot of stupids.
The ground leveled off and Baby came in sight. Dean pulled his arm back but didn't complain when Sam took his elbow. Dean's thoughts and memories were finally sliding back into place, but foremost was get warmed up.
He fumbled for the keys, but the zippered pocket he'd so admired when choosing the parka now defeated him. Sam leaned Dean against the car, pushed his hand out of the way, and fetched the keys himself. "Rude," grumbled Dean. Sam was the one fumbling now, trying to get the door open, so Dean pushed his hand aside and opened it himself. Dean found himself being bundled into the passenger's side by the only person in the world who manhandled him like that. "Hey!"
Sam shoved Dean's legs inside. "You were unconscious for almost an hour. Half an hour ago you were ranting about sore balls and hairy monkey balls. Ten minutes ago, you couldn't stand on your own. I'm driving."
"Hey, what did happen to my b--" Sam shut the door in his face.
It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time for Sam to get into the car, and even longer to get the keys into the ignition.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Dean, feeling sharper than he had since before he'd picked up that damn book. He fruitlessly chafed his arms.
"Hard to do this with the thick gloves."
Dean wasn't appeased. "Are you hypothermic?"
Sam gave the question some thought as he backed the car out carefully. Oddly, that made Dean feel better than an immediate no would have.
"I don't think so," Sam responded finally. "Just really chilled."
"No kidding, genius. Let's wait until spring before going back for that book. Wait, do they even get spring this far north?" He really wished the vents would start blowing warm air.
"Yes, they get spring," Sam said with a very little brotherly snort.
Dean's eyes narrowed. He'd caught the omission. "Then when do you think we should get the book?"
"We don't have to go back for it," answered Sam with a little sigh that clearly indicated he thought Dean was about to overreact. "I've got it inside my coat."
"How did you grab it? I don't remember bringing along a curse box or silk bag," responded Dean, his voice deepening.
"I figured it was a one-time defensive spell. Not many things could do that more than once. So I...picked it up to test it." Driving in the dark and snow required concentration, but not as much as Sam was giving it.
"You figured...you picked...what the hell Sam?" Dean was so angry he couldn't get any more words out."
"I couldn't get you to wake up for half an hour, Dean. I thought I might need to find a counter curse. I was ready to carry you to the car and didn't know if I'd need something out of the book to...get you back." Sam took a slightly unsteady breath and Dean thought he'd have run a hand through his hair if he could have. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can we go back to talking about your balls?"
The joke fell flat, but the hint of desperation did not. Sam had been freaked out for Dean, who found that he couldn't be truly angry any more. Frustrated was still on the menu, though, and he spent some good minutes complaining about how Sam never took care of himself. Speaking of...
"Didn't you say the spell scrambled you too? How? And is that why you fell on me?"
"It caught me just a tiny bit when I knocked the book out of your hand."
"Did it knock you out?"
"Um..."
"How. Long?" Bang up job big brother was doing tonight. Needing so much help, then not even realizing that Sam had gotten whammied too.
"Um...maybe 15 minutes?"
That translated to at least 20-25. "Dammit."
They were pulling up to the motel now and Dean was looking forward to finally being warm again. He'd have liked to have a hospital check Sam over to try and figure out what harm the spell might have done and maybe give him some warmed IV fluids. But if he did that, Sam would make sure Dean got checked over and/or admitted too. And kids were missing and they had to interview little Jenna in the morning.
They'd have to do motel room medicine and trust that their ability to get off that hill was a sign that they weren't seriously hurt. Definitely dammit.
Dean was at the motel room door and had it unlocked before Sam even got there. He immediately cranked the heat up as high as it would go.
"Why don't you get the coffee maker going and I'll see if I can get warm water from the taps for our hot water bottles?" Sam suggested.
"Dry socks and pants first." They weren't very wet, but trudging through the snow had gotten then damp from shins down, and that was dangerous.
Sam hesitated for the briefest second, then turned away before pulling off his gloves. Dean's fragmented memories suddenly coalesced. Sam's ungloved hand clutching the front of Dean's coat, holding his wrist to keep Dean's hand from slipping off his shoulders, fumbling to unlock the car door. Sam pulling his gloves on before climbing in the car, struggling to get the keys in the ignition, and driving without ever closing his fingers around the steering wheel.
Dean ducked past Sam and grabbed his wrists. "Aw, Sammy." Dean's hands were cold enough to be somewhat clumsy and painful, but Sam's were bone white with blue nailbeds.
"I couldn't get a grip on your coat with my gloves on," and damn if Sam didn't sound embarrassed and apologetic.
Dean grimaced. He should have paid more attention to Sam, shouldn't have needed so much help...
"Dean."
How did Sam put so much into one syllable? Dean mentally shook himself. "I'll get you some warm water. Can you get your pants changed?" He asked without a hint of mockery. Like they hadn't had to help each other get dressed or undressed before.
Sam still flushed. "I got it." He somehow did while Dean got the water. He couldn't get his socks, so Dean matter-of-factly took care of it. Then he waggled the Tylenol bottle.
"Open up and don't argue."
"I won't if you take some too. I can tell you're hurting." He was, so Dean tossed two in his own mouth, then two more into Sam's.
"Put your hands in the water, Sam. This is gonna suck."
It did suck, but Sam sat with a clenched jaw and didn't make a sound.
Not that Dean was doing great. He felt like he'd exercised every muscle to the point of exhaustion, and his extremities ached, then tingled like they were covered in poison ivy. And he absolutely could not get warm. Around about 2am, when he could still practically hear Sam shivering, he gave up. Dean pulled all of the covers off his bed and dumped them on top of Sam, they shoved him over and climbed in.
"Shut up and try to get some sleep," Dean warned. "And if you ever mention this to anyone, I'll back the car over your laptop."
"Faptolimmen, jerk."
Dean had no idea what most of that was, but he figured he understood the important part. "Goodnight, bitch."
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean stepped out of the shower, grateful beyond words that the hot water had lasted through his shower. He ached, and not from something cool like wrestling a wendigo. From being ambushed by a book. Dean kept in a groan as he got dressed in his suit. Zero point zero percent of him wanted to play fed and go out in the cold.
Stupid Wisconsin. It was going to be in negative temperatures all day. How was that even legal?
Dean would have felt better if Sam would have agreed to stay behind, but that was never going to happen.
Sam was too polite to point out that he'd practically carried Dean down that hill...though he probably would have if Dean had pushed it.
"They're just a little stiff," he'd said of his red, swollen hands. "I'm not letting a little discomfort keep me off this. Kids are missing, Dean."
How could Sam make him so irritated and so proud at the same time? It was like his super power.
Dean went out of the bathroom to find that Sam had managed to get into his own suit, but was struggling hopelessly with his tie. Dean couldn't help but grin in memory.
Sixteen-year-old Sam was going to receive an award for achieving a perfect score on the PSAT -- the first in school history. And Dad would have let Sam get out of it. Hell, he'd have wanted Sam to get out of it.
But they hadn't seen Dad in a week, and Dean felt it was high time someone acknowledged the geek's big brain. Getting to see little brother sweat it out in a suit? Just a bonus.
Sam took the news that he had to go in front of the whole school to accept the award with a combination of mortification and pride that was beautiful to watch.
The morning of the assembly, Dean was sticking close because Sam showed signs of wanting to bolt. He walked into the room he and Sam shared and was pleasantly surprised to find the kid dressed in his brand new suit (purchased with the spoils from some very successful pool hustling). It looked good on his new inches. Sam turned, fighting with the tie Dean had told him he had to wear.
"Let me get it, kiddo," said Dean, brushing Sam's hands aside. Sam huffed out a breath but let him at it.
Sam watched Dean's motions carefully, memorizing the steps. Dean was glad for the concentration, because it meant that he hopefully missed the emotion Dean knew was in his eyes.
The look on Sam's face when he discovered that Dean wasn't just dropping him off at school, but was staying for the assembly, was priceless. And when a furiously blushing Sam accepted the award, he didn't look at the principal or any of his friends in the audience. No. he was all eyes for the guy standing at the back of the room.
Not that Dean noticed or anything.
"Let me get it, kiddo," said Dean, brushing Sam's hands aside. Sam huffed out a breath but let him at it. "You sure you want to go out in the great white north?"
"No." Sam gave him a half grin and snagged his parka. "Let's go."
"Don't forget your gloves."
"Yes, mommy."
"Smart ass."
* * *
Scealai: Maybe it's just a local colloquialism, but if someone doesn't do well in the cold we say they have thin blood. Although you're right...logically, it doesn't make sense!
BruisedBloodyBroken: Ooh, you always have such great ideas! It's actually lovely weather here this week -- unseasonably warm 70 plus Fahrenheit. I don't get horribly cold until it's below 20, but that doesn't mean I like it!
DearHart: Thank you thank you!!!!
Timelady66: Alaska! Wow! I prefer to hibernate when the air hurts my face. Actually, as beautiful as Michigan is, I would like to live where I can where sandals all year around. I know I was supposed to reveal more in this chapter, but the boys just needed more attention first...oops.
sfaulkenberry: Are you thinking about the chapter The Call from Whumptober, maybe? Because that was definitely part of my inspiration, though I went a different direction here. If I haven't said it before, when you tell me specifically what works in the story, it really informs my writing, so thank you.
Lena: Poor Harvey. :-( I am very intrigued about your story idea and would love to read it. You know how I adore making the boys look out for each other. Did you know the tie-tying flashback was inspired by a comment you made on a story way back? Well, it was! And actually, there's an entire scene down the line that you basically wrote! hehe
emaribermude0: Thank you! That is very flattering.
Jenjoremy: I have to laugh at you calling me evil but thanking me for it! hehe Yes, we almost had Winchestercicles.
Kathy: I see both of your comments on the first chapter and if you wrote others, I'm sure they'll show up soon! I knew you'd like the Weechesters -- there will be more of them, I promise.
Ticketbndr: Oh thank you! I'm glad you're reading. It's fun to tie in Weechesters, who are always enjoyable to write. Thanks for commenting!
muffinroo: I quick checked for new comments before posting, and what a treat to see one from you! I'm glad you like it so far and can't wait to hear what you think once you learn who/what is behind it all. I hope you had a nice trip.